


A Rum Deal

by dashery, livethekind, R_Vienna, watchfob



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashery/pseuds/dashery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/livethekind/pseuds/livethekind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/R_Vienna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchfob/pseuds/watchfob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prohibition is on, and rum-runner Dave stumbles into Jade's speakeasy with some bad news. Then the bad news stumbles right in after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rum Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Not all of our creators have AO3 accounts, and so we'd also like to extend our thanks to everyone who helped contribute to this piece!

The lights were dim against the windows, the moon seemed lethargic, unwilling to shine brighter than her morning counterpart. The streets of New York wilted underneath the night’s cover, the pricey vehicles were tucked away in sleek homes, and the beautiful people were skulking behind shady alleyways, ducking into open doors and open arms, filled with golden liquor in varnished glasses. The night was young, the moon was high, and despite the ominous fog, the bars remained sewn shut, their doors were secrets well kept, and lost after a few sips of liquid luck. 

Your bar, however, was as open as it could be. The curtains that doubled as blinds for the grimy window panes, were sloppily cast away; the doors were at their widest angle.

It was an awkward sight for the rare newcomer. They would have balked at the view. Regulars knew the inviting nature of the place was a farce, a ruse. They wouldn’t waltz through the front door, and for that you were incredibly grateful. You were allowed to lounge on one of the empty barrels that once held the cheapest of beers and stare aimlessly, without fear of interruption or unwarranted investigation-turned-interrogation. 

It also didn’t hurt that you had the best seat in the house. You could see everything from your perch, you didn’t even have to try very hard behind your old, round spectacles. The place was still as stone, the local graveyard probably had more visitors - your bar was empty. Business wasn’t so great lately, the fear of getting shot was getting to your favorite customers. You turned your back to the door that you previously scoped and took a gander at your wares: half-empty bottles filled with old busthead and wilting flowers. Six flowers in total, tied together with fish line, left to die. Hiding a smile, you placed a hand over your lips.

He should be here soon. Maybe in five, four, three...

“Ding-dong, dollface.” 

And there he was. Right on time, too. He always had a knack for punctuality. You couldn’t remember an event he was late to. You tilted your head to the side and granted him a grin. It was a gamble. You knew your buckteeth were visible behind glossed lips. You knew your hair tumbled down bare shoulders, the V-neck dress you wore looked ethereal in the dim room, the green made your eyes pop, and you were almost certain that he wasn’t going to pull the icy mitt on you, because you were Jade Harley, and -

No dice. He wasn’t paying attention at all. He was not wooed by your womanly charm. He eyed the flowers warily, and you did your best to look just. so. keen. 

Maybe you should’ve kept your shoes on for this. Your tights were brand new, and you hadn’t swept the floor yet. You shook your head, turned back to him, and tried again.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” 

That wasn’t sultry. You sounded like a lovestruck Mrs. Grundy. A chunk of lead with a crush.

But Dave didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he took a seat on one of the old, wooden bar stools and propped his exposed elbows on the bar. He was wearing that silly newsboy hat you loved, and loved teasing him about. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his back hunched. 

“Jeepers creepers, Harley. I’m almost surprised.” 

You ignored his sarcasm, hopped off the rickety barrel, and leaned over the counter that separated you from Dave. He tilted his head up to meet your gaze, but his shades were a blank wall. You couldn’t read his expression.

Great.

You quirked an eyebrow. He lowered his arms and fished for a pack of cigarettes in his front pocket. Once found, he lit one up, breathed in, and turned away from you to exhale. Always the gentleman.

“Dave.” This was serious. He pursed his lips in response, and as if that was a magic spell, the world outside your little ol’ bar exploded.

Gunshots and frantic shrieks pierced the night outside. Dave jumped up from his bar stool and pulled out a revolver. You stared, unsure of what to do, because this was the first time he did any of this. He looked back at you, shades still firmly stuck to his face, and motioned to the ground.

He wanted you to hide. You slunk down to the floor, frowning; you weren’t one to run away from a fight. From behind the bar, you couldn’t see anything, but you heard the scuffle of footsteps and Dave’s string of curses when he stubbed his toe on an unoccupied barstool.

Too bad for him. You were sure he was having fun playing your knight in shining armor, keeping guard over your dingy Three in the Morning. You were doing a swell job of ignoring the broken glass flying about and the screams that came along with it. With your job, you had to ignore those kind of things. Dave was the one who got...somber about it.

A stray bullet whizzed past your earlobe and into the fishline vase. Your flowers exploded on impact. 

You heard a “SHIT!”, and a loud thump. Then silence. Finally rising from your uncomfortable crouch, you turned to the wreckage and bit your lower lip at the sight. There were bodies at Dave’s feet, and his nice, rolled up trousers were stained with blood. You jumped over the counter to make sure it wasn’t his. 

“Sorry about the mess.” He pocketed his pistol and turned to you.

You crossed your arms over your chest and awaited a more profound apology.

“Rival gang members, no big deal.” He shrugged. “No major casualties, ‘cept your flowers.” 

You raised your eyebrows and remained silent. 

“Stop with the face, Harley. You’re killin’ me, here.” 

“I don’t think you needed help with that.” He looked at you, but you weren’t sure if he was looking at you directly or if he was staring between your eyes or something. With those infuriating shades, you couldn’t tell anything.

“Butt me? I dropped my ciggy.” 

You almost felt sorry. “Dave, there’s something you’re not telling me.” Before he could do a thing, you took the lighter from the counter and slipped it down your dress. His lips twitched, and he threw himself back against the wall, sliding hands into pockets. 

“Whatcha want to know?” There was steel in his tone. He was bracing himself, carefully calculating the manner of his speech. “Those gangsters were here for me.” You adopted the pokerface he was known for and let him continue.

“My brother’s hurt.”

Dirk was hurt? That was impossible, but--No wonder Dave looked so haggard.

“I have a run in two day’s time, baby girl, and if I don’t get the goods in by Friday at midnight, they’ll send me their best.” You ignored the baby girl comment, pieced together his limericks, and oh god no. 

“Dave, they can’t. I won’t let them kill--”

He leaned forward and pressed a finger against your lips.

“Don’t say it. I’m impossible to kill, remember?”

You wanted to laugh. The first time you’d met him, he was a bloody mess, skin hanging off his jaw and eyes blackened by somebody’s fist. If it hadn’t been for you, he would’ve been a rotting corpse six feet under the New York filth.

You had to think.

“You need a partner, right?” He flinched, and you knew his eyes were widening behind his shades as he figured out where you were going with that.

“No.”

“Dave, you need someone with you.” 

“Hell no.” 

“It’s not negotiable, you sap.” 

“No, it’s not. It’s bullshit. You’re not coming with me. I’ll take Rose, or John. Canada ain’t friendly. It’s not filled with tiny moose, and it’s not made up of fucking maple syrup. Rum running ain’t a game, sweet pea. It’s a war. You saw what they just tried.” His voice remained steady and you felt patronized. 

You clenched your fists. “You’d rather endanger your own sister? Give me a break! I’m a barkeep. This isn’t a gamble, Dave: I can fight, and I do so damn well! You need the help.” Your voice was no longer a muted hush but a screech. He was being incredibly stupid. 

Dave Strider leaned back and glared at a menacing piece of dust on the shattered window-pane. You glared at him. 

He didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“Tch. Fine.” 

Your name is JADE HARLEY, and you just convinced a certain DAVE STRIDER to let you go with him on a rum run.

\--

"Got the goods?"

"Don't know. You got the cash?"

You are DAVE--

No. Cut that shit out. You were a tough dude who'd got no time for that kind of thing; you were in the middle of a rum run.

The men you were facing were no-nonsense brutes who you swore got a degree in dumb. The time you'd dealt with them hadn't sweetened their view of you, and you weren’t particularly fond of them either. But the goons knew how to keep their mouths shut so long as you'd got the money for them. And they got the best rum of anyone around. 

Well, maybe ‘best rum’ was stretching a bit. Make that ‘only rum’.

You handed over a wad of bills so thick that it made Jade gasp. You weren’t sure how she talked you into letting her come along, but she'd done pretty good so far, staying quiet when she needed to and keeping out of the way. It’d been a risk.

You noticed the leers of the men as they caught sight of her, and something in your stomach clenched, but you tried to not let it get to you. One false move and it could be a firefight far from any civilized help.

"Here," the tall, gangly one gave Jade a weird smile and handed her a bottle from one of many boxes. "For the dame, as a gift. Test the wares for us, huh, sweetheart?"

She didn't shy away; you watched as Jade uncorked the bottle and took a swig, apparently unafraid of anything as trivial as poison. Silence followed--the bozos looked impressed that a little thing like Jade could throw back straight rum without a funny face--and then she smiled. But it wasn't a happy one. You'd known Jade Harley for too long, and that smile was definitely one of contempt.

“Like it, doll?” Take the hint, Jade. “Same people we got the last batch from.” You looked back to the runners, who both watched her with something like curiosity and something else like lust. Finally, she shook her head.

“I knew there was something wrong with the last stuff! All our customers kept complaining that it tasted funny.” She threw the bottle on the ground. “You put something in it. This isn’t real rum. It tastes like shoe polish!”

Shit, shit--on the way there you’d told Jade that she wasn’t supposed to do anything but compliment them. She’d seemed to agree at the time, but then again you hadn’t planned on them handing her the bottle and asking her to sing. Now they stepped forward. You weren’t quite sure what to do, but letting Jade’s dead body fall to the bottom of a lake wasn’t in the agenda. So you moved in front of her, ignoring her scoff of protest.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s tired.”

“I am n--ow!” You elbowed her and briefly thought you might have accidentally caught her in the chest. If she had a bruise, you’d kiss it better later, if you were both alive and away from these thugs.

If.

"You got a problem with our rum?" The joking tone was gone from the thug's voice, and you stepped back, forcing Jade away from them as much as possible. Still, that didn't seem to stop her from yelling right back at them.

"Yeah, I do!" You turned around to tell her to be quiet--Jade, do you want to die in Canada?--but she glared at you and stepped on your foot, gracefully sidestepping you to continue her argument with these men who had to be at least twice her size. "You've been lying to us, and hurting our business! Why would you do that?"

"Cash." The goon would have been nose to nose with her if Jade were a foot taller.

"Not all people are as good at spotting the fakes as you are. Wouldn't be in business if we didn't do a little supplementin', right? So don't look so grim, toots. You may be losin' business, but we ain't."

He leaned in toward her lips. With a disgusted growl she slapped him, sending him stumbling backwards.

The change was sudden. You pushed her out of the way just as the shorter man lunged, and he fell on top of you and knocked the air from your lungs. You weren't exactly sure if it was his weight or the knife pressed to your throat that was more distracting. Grunting, you pulled your arm out from under the guy, only to have it pinned again.

"Not so tough now that you're about to become dirt?" The man grinned, revealing a smile that was more holes than teeth. You broke your traditional stoicism for your last moments and grimaced. You assumed it was all right--Dirk would never know.

A rum fuckin’ deal. Lousy hands happened. You only wished that you had played Jade safe.

In the background, you could hear her shriek and the grunting laughter of the other man. "Any last words before we kill you both and leave you for the beavers?"

"Your breath smells like a horse’s behind. Heard of toothpaste before?" Not bad last words, you thought. But before he could rip your head from your body and send you to the great beyond, you heard the unmistakable click of a pistol.

"Get off of him or I'll shoot you! And you stay away from me, you creep, or I'll shoot you too!"

You all turned to witness Jade Harley, dress hitched up to her underwear, a pistol in either hand. You weren’t sure which was keener--those gams or the pistols--but before you could decide she let a warning shot land not far from your ear.

“Harley, learn to aim!”

But the sight of an attractive bird double-wielding loaded pistols made the men wary. The short guy rolled off of you and you stood, retrieving your newsboy cap from where it had fallen.

How about them timetables. Turned tables. What are you, a train?

“All right, boys, now you’re on the trolley. Give me the cash back and my lovely partner won’t bump you off.” The men dropped the money and glared at both of you, before Jade let off another warning shot past the short man’s shoulder. 

“And that’s just a warning, you pill! Maybe the next time we deal with you, you’ll bring real hooch!” If her words didn’t get the message across, the gunfire certainly did; the men took off, leaving behind the fake liquor in their haste to get away from the crazy dame.

You made your way over to Jade, who was putting the pistols back into their holsters. “Well. Next time, just watch where you’re pointing those things.” Your hands were still numb. She looked depressed, buckteeth grabbing her lower lip in a sullen pout. “Upset that you didn’t get to shoot ‘em dead?”

“Now we don’t have any rum for the bar!” Jade hugged you, seeming almost devastated. You weren’t really sure why the bar is her primary concern right now--you two almost died--but you had to roll with it. You had a cute doll wrapping her arms around you, and with a quick kiss to her forehead and another to her nose, you finally got her to smile again.

“I’ll run down to Florida and personally distill the whole Everglades for you. But hey, looks like I’m still impossible to kill. Thanks.” She shoved you away, laughing as she attempted to regain what was left her dress’s dignity. “Leave it,” you called as you made your way towards the car. “I like that style. Lots better than your long skirts.”

She slid the fabric down over the pistols. “Dave!”

“Can’t help it, you’re just packing too much firepower in that chassis.”

“Strider, I’m going to cut you up and serve you to the customers if you don’t shut it!” She stomped over to you, but before she could touch you, you pressed your lips against hers.

She relented, giggling as she returned the kiss. You pulled her into the cab of the car, and she yanked the door closed before returning for another kiss.

You didn’t get any rum tonight. But this was damn copacetic, too.


End file.
